Beyond
by azrathiel
Summary: When Harry fell in love with Draco, he should have known it would end like this... Harry/Draco Warning for character death


Harry Potter tries not to think of the lives that might have been

Harry Potter tries not to think of the lives that might have been. The worlds he cannot touch. The futures that cannot be.

He doesn't think of the dead because he is alive. Because if he does think of them it is one short step from admitting he wishes he could join them in the ground.

Harry Potter doesn't believe in heaven; not anymore

...

_The first time Harry Potter killed he laughed til he cried. Then he ran._

_Draco Malfoy found him sitting under the shower that night, dressed and shivering as cold water mingled with the tears. _

_He didn't offer comfort or even sarcasm. He wasn't here for what he could give Harry, but for what Harry could give him._

_He didn't even look at Harry as he fucked his throat..._

_..._

The first victorious act of the Boy Who Lived was a speech about heroism, loss and how to rebuild the world. Voldemort lay dead at his feet and the armies who had followed him were scattered. He stood upon the pedestal of peoples dreams and fought hard to keep them alive.

The first act of Harry Potter the day the war ended was to lock himself in the broom closet three doors down from the Charms classroom.

He didn't laugh, but he did cry.

...

_Harry only becomes aware that he's two people the first time Draco Malfoy kisses him._

_The lips on his, harsh and demanding rend him: Harry Potter from The Boy Who Lived. Because you can't save the world and love your enemy._

_So Harry can love and the hero can fight, always together but never the same... _

_..._

Harry tries not to think of love or passion. The emotions amplified by war until they became pain. Even now... the war a memory they tear at his soul.

...

_Do you love me Potter?_

_Malfoys face is hard as he clasps Harry's chin in a rough grip. Harry avoids his gaze. _

_You fool... Malfoy whispers and leans down to kiss him, brutally, bighting his lip, swirling the blood between their tongues..._

_..._

He tries not to think of hatred, or anger, or any other emotion that may lead to thoughts of him.

...

_Passion: it was rich and dark on his tongue, smooth and inviting. It circled about his breath and coated Harry's lungs in a dark liquid that never truly dissipated. His every touch spoke of fire and plague, burning and illness, silence and respite._

_Please... it's all he can pant and he's not sure if it's a request for more or a cry for mercy..._

_..._

Harry tries to occupy his mind with other thoughts. He rushes from place to place talking, doing, being.

He doesn't let himself stay in bed of a morning. Not since Hermione found him, the potion open in his hand.

Dreamless sleep is addictive.

And Harry Potter dreams... He dreams of happiness and laughter and a life that could never have existed. The lush meadows of an undiscovered childhood and the verdant forests of a love he only ever admitted to himself.

The dreams are impossible... aching deep inside.

He's the youngest Auror in the century, the best in the business and so lonely he thinks his heart might break.

...

_I don't love you Potter, you know that, says Malfoy smiling cruely... and oh, but if your friends could see your face..._

_..._

He laughs with his friends and smiles at their jokes.

He plays The Boy Who Lived almost every moment of every day. He pretends he didn't lose the ability to be two people the moment the war ended.

And he wishes he could return to a time when lying to himself was as easy as lying to others.

...

_Where are the Weasel and the Mudblood... not with you today? Again? Tut, tut, Potter... Aren't you scared?_

_And Malfoy smiles easing one hand from the pocket of his jeans clasping Harry's neck in a loose grip... His kiss isn't gentle..._

_They never are... _

_..._

But most of all he tries not to think of what may have been. The future that was, is, now, and never can be. He tries to think of life, of rain and wind and storms that force your very body into being and doing.

He tries not to think of death.

But often he fails... and Malfoy will return, his grace haunting his dreams. And Harry remembers that death is Malfoy's realm now. The destroyer of souls, the man who killed thousands during the War has returned to those he sent before him. And Harry weeps for what may have been.

And he dreams of green in the night, a wand in his hand... and the face of a Death Eater becoming the face of his lover as he falls.


End file.
